Diary of a Switcher: Week 9
You know one of those weeks where everything is meant to fall into place and everyone is where they should be at? No? good. We can still be friends then, as that isn’t the narrative of this week's Diary of a Switcher. It all goes spectacularly wrong. They say never work with children or animals. Now I know why...
Day 55: My house-mate and The Boy (I live in London, people, the fact I have a kitchen I don’t have to share with 17 students and a neighbouring takeaway restaurant is a complete luxury in this city!) have given each other chest infections and now I am doing that sort of sleeping when I just about fall asleep and then get awoken by their coughing. Then I start envisioning them having cancer, then dying, then me being left all on my own and then I just get up because, sleep doesn’t happen during those night time moments so I decide to begin my diary instead….
Day 56: I'd be lying if I said I hadn’t had the odd toke on a cigarette recently. It really is a captivating smell and on chilled-out summer evenings I have wanted a “taste” of tobacco while I had a lager at hand in the beer garden. Sigh. I am starting to not miss it at all, except for in those moments and I allow myself an indulgence, because I know where refusing temptation leads me. Otherwise, I am doing so so well.
Day 57: I wrote an article on Swaptober… sharing it not so discreetly on the partner's Facebook wall, because I AM that type of passive aggressive girlfriend #sorrynotsorry
Day 60: Sweet Patrick Swayze...what a blooming weekend I’ve had.. let me fill you in as I couldn’t make it up. Prepare yourself, it’s emotional.
My cat, Catrick Swayze (yes, In honor of the late actor. Yes, actual, real name. Yes, she is a girl) decided to climb up a tree just as me and The Boy had decided to go to bed in the early hours of the morning. Within a minute she decided she wasn’t going “to cat” anymore and thus climbed as high as she could so she was then trapped, screaming at the top of her lungs for 36 hours. We had the RSPCA, The Fire Brigade, then finally a friendly tree surgeon called out to assist while half of East Finchley were ringing my flat door and holding a vigil for the screaming fur ball. I, meanwhile, was stood on my balcony with a topknot on my head, and a bath-robe over my PJs explaining to every passer-by that she was in fact ok, and help was coming while her sister - Chairmen Meow (yes, like the late dictator, Yes, actual, real name. Yes, she is a girl) was meowing at us, trying to alert us to the fact Catrick was up a tree. I really need some smarter cats.
She is down now but it was truly insane and embarrassing and, of course, I would run out of e liquid just as it all kicked off and the shop near by doesn’t stock it (I know, the heathens). So me and The Boy smoked several packets of his cigarettes on the balcony while this was all happening and tried to figure out if we could climb the tree using some kitchen knives as ice picks and a bath-robe belt as a security rope. Safe to say, if people didn’t think I was the crazy balcony smoking lady before, they do now with the new and improved title of “cat lady” added to it.
It was the most fun you could have in 36 hours, without actually having any fun.
Day 61: Back to the strength of e juice I was when I first switched…. And so we begin the blooming switching process again *growns*. I also sound like a 65 year-old coal miner when I laugh due to the smoking. As I sit writing this I glance down at the fur ball that caused all of this upset and am tempted to skin her and turn her into a Davy Crockett hat as winter is coming. Then she does a little snooze and my heart melts and I take a big puff on my vaporiser - she’s lucky she’s so darn cute.
Until next week, which I hope is less emotional….biggest of digital hugs to those of you currently doing the switch, by all means get in touch if you need any support.
We can do this!